


Hope Told a Flattering Tale

by elistaire



Series: Hope Told a Flattering Tale [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He always brought a gift.  This time it was a pint of blueberries, small and bright, still sun-warmed, and perfectly tart-sweet. </i></p><p>The visits only last a few hours, and they don't say much, but the time is precious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Told a Flattering Tale

He always brought a gift. This time it was a pint of blueberries, small and bright, still sun-warmed, and perfectly tart-sweet.

Charles lay on the couch with his head in Erik’s lap and they ate the blueberries one by one, Erik smoothing his fingers through Charles’ hair in a not-quite absentminded manner. He would stay for a few hours, never much more, and then be gone again, to plot and plan for what Charles knew not. Charles didn’t ask, and he didn’t pry, verbally or mentally.

Last month, Erik had brought pecans, still in their streaked almost-black and brown shells, and they had spent their hours together shelling them, one by one. Each one was devoured in turn, and they’d hardly dared breathe a word to each other in the process, trusting only the communication of the sound of cracking shells.

Had the wild blueberries come from Maine? Certainly the pecans had come from somewhere in the South, perhaps Oklahoma? What would Erik be doing in those places? Charles had to set these questions aside. To know might mean an end to these irregularly scheduled visits.

Although he’d never shown any talent for prescience before, in this one thing, Charles was absolute. He knew for certain when Erik would come. It was never more than once a month, and often entire seasons would go by without a visit. Yet, Charles knew when Erik would be arriving. Something in the sky, or the air, or the sunlight would tell him. There would be echoes and whispers too faint and ephemeral to catch, and then Charles would know, and be ready.

How he arrived, and departed, Charles could form an educated hypothesis on. He suspected that Erik was truly starting to understand how few boundaries he had when applying his power.

The analytical part of his mind thought perhaps the visits, and the gifts, were small measures of atonement. But in his heart, he didn’t want to believe that. They’d had a connection between them from the moment they’d met, and though they followed different paths through life, he thought that each of them craved the company of the other, enough to set aside their differences for these few hours at least.

Critically, Charles also admitted—and hoped—that perhaps this precious time of solace and quiet friendship spent together might someday change the weighted balance. He couldn’t guess how, but perhaps a respite away from danger, stress, or the weight of the world on his shoulders, might make some critical difference at a moment in the future. Charles would never stop hoping for such permanent reconciliation.

Erik stopped moving his fingers through Charles’ hair, and touched Charles on the cheek, his gaze direct, but hooded. Without using his own power, Charles could only guess at what emotions were within.

“So soon?” he asked out loud. The blueberries were long gone, and indeed, the hands on the clock pointed to the witching hour.

A sad smile hovered on Erik’s lips. “I’ll return,” he promised.

“You’d better,” Charles said, reaching up to touch Erik’s cheek, mirroring Erik’s own movement. “Our fortunes are not yet fully written, you know.”

Erik tilted his head in mute acknowledgement and, a moment later, was gone.

Charles looked down and saw that one last, lonely blueberry did remain in the carton. He crushed it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. It tasted like a summer’s day.

**Author's Note:**

> Such a new fandom at this moment; such a compelling romance. How could I not want to dip a toe in, just to feel the waters?
> 
> Title from a quote/song:  
>  _Hope told a flattering tale  
>  That joy would soon return;  
> Ah, naught my sighs avail  
> For love is doomed to mourn.  
> _  
> \- song introduced into the opera, "Artaxerxes", words by John Wolcot (Peter Pindar)
> 
> The music is quite lovely, and can be found on youtube.


End file.
